


Scrubbed

by Daebakinc



Category: Kpop - Fandom, Min Yoongi - Fandom, suga - Fandom, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Gen, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 04:56:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15988085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daebakinc/pseuds/Daebakinc
Summary: Your mental state isn't the best after a bad day and you're dealing as best you can until Yoongi steps in to bring you back.





	Scrubbed

“Babe, it’s time to stop,” comes the soft command.

The quiet catches your attention more than the voice. Dazed, you blink up at Yoongi from your hands and knees. His hand is still on your phone from turning off your music. He stands just outside the bathroom, leaning on the door frame to avoid the wet floor.

“When did you get home?” you ask, grip on the scrub brush tightening.

“An hour ago.”

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Because you had the music so loud the walls were almost vibrating. I took one look at the apartment and knew you’d bite off my head if I said ‘hello,’ so I gave you some time,” Yoongi says with a shrug.

Your temper raises its hackles again. How dare he talk as if you were some emotion-ridden malcontent without a civil bone in their body. He’s one to talk. Before you can fire off a retort, Yoongi’s holding out his hand to help you off the floor.

His eyes are patient. The empathetic calm there smooths aside the red that flared across your vision. You take his hand and he helps you stand and step out of the small room. The solidness of his hand with its cool fingertips and warm palm brings your mind back to Earth. Your other senses follow, seeping back into awareness.

The ache in your arms and legs from scrubbing and kneeling and stretching. The unwelcome quiet too devoid of distractions. The scent of cleaner so thick you can taste it settled on your tongue.

“Hey, look at me.” Yoongi’s other hand attaches itself to your chin so your eyes refocus on his. “You’ve been cleaning ever since you got home from work.” He makes it a statement instead of a question.

You really can’t argue because you don’t even know the time. So you shrug. “I think so. I don’t remember.”

“You really should’ve had some kind of ventilation. The bleach hit me like a wall as soon as I walked in here. It’s not good for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” A dull pound in your head is another reminder. You press your fingers against your temple.

Yoongi frowns and grabs your hand. “Did you use gloves?”

“No.”

“That was really stupid. Look at your fingers.” His frown turns into a scowl and he shoves your fingers in your face. “Look at that.”

The skin there is angry red almost all the way down to the second joints. Half of your nails are almost down to the quick. The stinging you’ve been ignoring makes itself known with a prickle. “Ow.”

“Yeah. Ow.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you snap.

“I know. Now hush.”

He moves around you to open the cabinet, still careful of the floor. Yoongi grabs the supplies he wants in a few seconds. You follow behind as he goes to the kitchen out of habit. He turns on the sink and tests the water.

“Rinse them.” Yoongi pushes your hand down when you naturally reach for the soap. He shakes his head, “Not that. You don’t need anything else irritating your skin.”

When you finish, he leads you to the couch and makes you sit beside him. The room is almost unrecognizable, you realize. It looks like one of those staged homes when they’re desperate for a buyer: sterile, absurdly straightened, and barely lived in. The windows are wide open, but the chemical scent is still heavy, clinging to every surface. It doesn’t smell like home, like you and Yoongi. It doesn’t look like the cozy place the two of you created for yourselves, away from the demands of the world. Embarrassment creeps in, shoving your shoulders inward.

As if you could hide from Yoongi when he has both of your hands captive. Thankfully, his focus is only on your hands, spreading soothing lotion on each finger and palm.

“Want to talk about why you turned into a raging cleaning robot?” he tentatively asks.

“It’s really stupid,” you mutter, frustrated with yourself anew. The roiling emotions you’d pushed away for hours whisper on the edges of your thoughts. You determinedly force them away again. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“You’re really trying to give me that bullshit?” He doesn’t pause, doesn’t look up at you. He just continues to gently care for your hands.“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. I won’t force you, but don’t lie to me.”.

You flinch. “I’m sorry. It’s just… still kind of- no, still really new actually discussing this kind of thing, you know? I’ve said ‘I’m fine’ and had people just accept it for so long that it’s a hard habit to break.”

“Hey, look who you’re talking to.” Yoongi offers you a small smile, the first since he’s been home. He taps the side of his head. “You’re not the only crazy one in this relationship.”

“You’re not crazy.”  
“Then neither are you.”

“I guess.” You watch his fingers working the remaining ointment into your skin, now a light pink.

Your day comes out haltingly. Each time you have to stop yourself from filtering, editing. You had both agreed to be honest with each other in a way you are with no one else. Even if it leaves you raw. Yoongi listens to the heights and depths, the jerks and twists your mind had unwillingly dragged you through. He doesn’t ask for explanations. You don’t have them for everything and he knows that. He understands that this isn’t rational. Even now the remnants of your roller-coaster try to reclaim their grip on you.

But Yoongi’s hold acts as a grounding rod. Your head stays above the water. You tread the water. By the time your words run dry, your chest empty, the lotion is long absorbed into your skin. Yet Yoongi remains in the same place, thumbs running soothingly across the back of your hands.

“I’m so tired of this,” you sigh quietly. Your eyes follow the movements of his fingers. You flip your hand so you can link your fingers. “It’s been so long since the last one… I thought I was done.”

Yoongi lifts his eyes to yours. “I know. It happens. You dealt with it. You made it through.”

“Do I ever have to go back out there?” You let go of his hands to slide down on the couch, resting your head in his lap. The effort required to sit up isn’t worth it.

He runs his fingers through your hair, just as you like. “Yes,” he answers bluntly. “But not right now. Not tonight.”

You pull his other hand around your waist and hold it. “That’s good enough for now.”

Comfortable quiet settles in and you close your eyes. The strokes and snags of Yoongi’s fingers lull your mind like the bass beat of a song. You don’t notice it stopped until something taps your shoulder.

A single black earbud held fills your vision. Wordlessly, you take it and tuck it into your ear.

Before he turns on the music, Yoongi comments, “At least you won’t have to clean come spring. I don’t think a speck of dirt will dare show its face here til next year, maybe the year after.”

You swat his thigh and smile. “Means less you have to do. Lucky you.”

Yoongi just squeezes your hand and presses play. Audible bass and a new melody fill your head and sweeps you away as he resumes playing with your hair.


End file.
